Newbie Chapter 2
by mackiederlay
Summary: Author's Note: I own nothing. Second chapter in Grell's adventures with Ellie


Chapter 2: First Lessons

London loomed like a great stone beast coated in fog and mist. Grell's heels clicked on the cobbled stones and Ellie followed closely behind, marveling at the faces of passersby who seemed to take no notice of her nor her flamboyant mentor. To her surprise, the ever-ladylike reaper chose a heavy, bulky chainsaw as her death scythe, wielding it as though the thing weighed nothing at all. The Chassis was, of course, red, and Grell confided in her plan to paint red roses along the blade. Ellie nodded, secretly thinking it a bit much. Nonetheless, she suggested black vines to connect each rose which stretched Grell's shark-toothed grin that much wider. "Ooh, how very deadly! Yes, that's a marvelous idea. You and I are going to get along quite well, Elinore!" Grell cooed, that smile never fading from her face. "Now, quickly, to the rooftops!" She seemed to fly upward without hesitation, landing gracefully on a narrow ledge which separated the building's façade from its flat rooftop. They were only four stories off of the ground in a part of the city which was no more than a cluster of tightly-packed, low-lying structures which might have served as storage houses for shops, or store fronts when they were new. Ellie didn't think anything in London could be less than a hundred or so years old, how did it all stay standing? The city was a great beast, breathing steam through stony fangs, the people were no more than fleas on its great back. Ellie followed Grell, waiting, watching, until the red reaper spoke up. "One of our targets is just below in an apartment, but we're early." Ellie only nodded, sitting upon the edge of the roof, watching people pass by.

The sky turned a rosy pink as the day wore on and sunset approached. Grell's favorite hobby seemed to be people watching, judging them when she did find a fly and she found them easily. "Look at the hips on that one! That skirt is not her friend, not at all." Ellie listened, nodded, and offered a soft chuckle from time to time. She'd never had much to say in life and it seemed no different in death. Her school days as a girl taught her to read, write, and speak properly, but a lifetime alone on the ranch alone with Daddy, who rarely spoke, taught her to appreciate the silence. Elan never spoke much except to correct her aim, give her direction, or poke fun at her failures. Their time together was silent, sacred, peaceful, and the quiet moments that passed between them wanted for nothing. Theirs was a bond which required no words. It was more likely that Elan had been raised, as all men of his tribe, to say little and remain strong and stoic. Ellie often worried if she had been the only one to have felt any sort of friendship between them.

A sharp jab to her ribs broke her reverie as Grell, seemingly annoyed, scowled at her. That smile had faded for the first time in to a, angry grimace made all the more intimidating by her glowing, gold-rimmed eyes. "Do you ever speak?" She spat, angrily.

"I do, just ain't got much to say." Ellie confessed with a shrug. "Besides that, I'm here to learn, ain't supposed to interrupt the teacher, right?"

"Listen, you Southern Belle, I can't stand the silent types. If you're going to work with me you'd better start talking!"

"I ain't Southern! I'm from Tombstone!" Ellie snapped back. She wasn't from the American South and her own homeland was far different from the steamy marshlands which made up the land East of the Mississippi. She was proud of the hard life she'd led and all she knew of how to survive just about anywhere. In a land where water is precious, a swamp seems like paradise, not that she'd ever seen one outside of a children's story book.

"Pardon? Where did you say you were from?"

"Tombstone, Arizona, or thereabouts. It's an old name taken from the only landmark around for miles when the whole town was no more than a camp while prospectors looked for gold, coal, iron, anything worth mining. The name just kind of stuck, even after its founding was official."

Grell broke in to peals of laughter, the town's name seemed to amuse her. Ellie let her have her laughs, despite her embarrassment. She'd never heard anyone laugh at her home town before but it was odd that a Grim Reaper should come from a place called Tombstone, or that a whole town should be named for a grave-marker. Ellie couldn't remember if anyone knew who'd been buried there but the bigger question remained; who'd done the burial? Out there, no water, very little food, and natives more than willing to lend a hatchet to the head rather than a helping hand, who'd spent a day under that broiling sun to dig a proper grave, let alone mark it? By night, tarantulas, scorpions, lizards, and the cold dark would have made digging nearly impossible, and no trace of a caravan could be found anywhere near the grave. Her mentor righted herself and wiped the tears from under her red frames. "Oh, my sides hurt! You're quite the joker, aren't you?" Grell spoke in her usual sing-song way which grated on the ears a little. "You could say you were born for this job, having been born in a veritable grave." Checking her watch as she spoke, she gave a slight nod. "It's time for your first victim."

An old man lay in a sweat-soaked bed propped up on a mountain of pillows as a stream of drool rand own his chin, pooling on his chest. In life, he was portly, robust, a jolly-looking grandfather with bushy side burns that grew all the way down the sides of his face to his chin. Now, he was a waste of pallid skin, his pained groaning the only sign that he still lived. The room reeked of death, that certain scent in the air when death is nearby. Alone for the moment, his family having taken leave to mourn despite their nearly departed having been beyond the point of caring. "How boring!" Grell complained. "Well, this is your first assignment so I'll take care of it, you sit back and watch." Ellie's eyes went wide in shock as, as if from nowhere, Grell retrieved the rather large chainsaw and wondered, to herself, where the reaper had been keeping it the entire time. Its engine roared to life and the vicious metal teeth tore through the old man, spraying blood and viscera over the sheets, walls, and the two reapers. Grell laughed, or rather cackled, as her scythe did its job, Ellie was close to being sick but didn't look away. She tried to think of the time Daddy skinned a deer, it was just like that, she wasn't human anymore and had to remember it.

When it was done, even the bed had been cut through. Blood soaked the mattress faster than a flood in the dessert and spread far, dripping down on to the floor. The man was mutilated, anyone in their right mind was going to suspect murder. Grell assured her that wasn't the case but she knew better. Before Ellie could voice her concerns, however, thin tendrils emerged from the body, undulating as if blown by the wind though there was none in the room. It looked like a long, flat bit of paper. "Is that-?" Grell nodded and gestured for Ellie to go near with a wave of her arm as if introducing some great star to a stage, her grin never faded. Timidly, she approached the tendrils which had split into three before she could get nearer and, as Ellie stretched out her hand, they jumped toward her, flickering like a motion picture every moment of the old man's life. A businessman by trade, he'd worked in a bank, mortgages and loans. In collection, he was ruthless. Clients were drawn to him by his friendly nature, his open palm offering them all the riches they desired, only to be crushed when payment was due. It was the nature of his work, but it still got a rise out of her. It made her angry, he didn't have to push families on to the street, or ruin businesses which relied on his generosity which, from the client's first meeting with the man, they'd come to expect as part of his character. His charitable nature, his pleasantness, all a lie, a lure for a gullible catfish. He married, had children and grandchildren, retired, grew ill, and here he was, rolled up in a reel of film in the palm of her hand. "Holy-. Is he dead?" Ellie asked in disbelief.

"Quite dead. Good work on keeping your lunch down, most new Reapers can't handle the first dead body they see." Grell said with as friendly a grin as she could pull off with those vicious teeth which now reminded Ellie too much of the blood-coated blades on the chainsaw which she held in one hand as though it were weightless.

"It's a real mess in here."

"Isn't it lovely?! I am an artist, you know! Red is my medium, my muse, my passion." The red-clad reaper twirled like a dancer, her chainsaw held to her chest. Ellie looked on in shock but then, they weren't human, not anymore. Perhaps there was an art to this sort of work, but it certainly didn't seem like plastering the walls was the best way to do it. Death should be peaceful, quick, and clean. Ellie's own scythe, the six-shooter, wasn't the most peaceful or clean, but a shot between the eyes was quick and left fewer guts on the ground to say the least. Still, she'd only been on the job for a day and kept her disagreements to herself. "Alright, Van Gogh, let's get out of here. Ain't going to be able to keep from upchucking for much longer," Ellie confessed, and with a reluctant sigh Grell left her latest masterpiece behind.

Ellie took the next case from a distance, shooting right through the window of a brothel as a fatal overdose took hold of the working woman in mid-coitus. The record slid with ease to her hand across the street and on a neighboring rooftop. "Told you!" She said with confidence. Grell had bet she couldn't shoot far enough to get it, but her aim had been dead on. "Suppose I have bragging rights?" She asked with a smirk. Grell gave her a scornful sneer, to which she could only smile in response. "Suppose I do," Ellie affirmed, then made ready for their next target. "Where to, boss?"

"Boss?" Grell questioned, her grin returning with a vengeance. "I like it."

The city teamed with life and death, co-existing side by side in brutal contrast, and the pair of Reapers made quick work of nearly half of the city's dead. Upon their return to headquarters, both were weary from the heavy load of records they each carried. Their shift had ended and another pair had been sent to replace them. Ellie wondered if people ever stopped dying long enough for Death to take a break. She'd worked hard before but never felt this exhausted. Her legs were sore, arms nearly numb, and her bullets were spent. The showers, though communal, allowed for enough privacy with each individual stall being surrounded by tiled walls. Having used creeks and outhouses her whole life, showering with her male co-workers didn't seem to bother her, despite that her only protection was a shower curtain. Grell cautioned her that it wasn't safe, men had wicked minds and she was still a girl. Ellie's face contorted in confusion. "You had any trouble?"

"Well, no, not as such, but," Grell stammered, trying to form a coherent answer when Ellie interrupted.

"Nothing to worry over, we'll look out for each other, right?" With that, she stepped in to one of the stalls and undressed before turning the water on. Grell was visibly nervous, but Ellie couldn't see why. Sharp eyes scanned the room at the other reapers, none seemed too rough and Grell didn't caution her about any one man, save for warning her that Ron was a flirt. When she saw the man, the top half of his hair a startling yellow compared to the jet black lower half. Ellie shrugged, disinterestedly. "He's alright, but I ain't for men what dye their hair." She said with a mischievous smile. Grell laughed, or rather, cackled. It seemed Ellie was catching on.


End file.
